Resisting the urge to plunge my hands into the basket of fiber, I hurried out to join Gabi. I found her gently digging into hills of purple potatoes, teasing out the tiny new offerings near the surface. The skins of the potatoes were iridescent in the sunlight when I rubbed off the dirt. Unlike purple beans, purple potatoes kept their color when cooked.

"These are going to be gorgeous with the bright green of the new peas," I said.

Gabi grinned. "I know. Rocky doesn't realize it, but that's one of the reasons I grow this variety. I just love the way they look with other food on the plate." "

I saw your spinning wheel in the house. Wouldn't a combination of those colors in a two-ply yarn be amazing?"

She sat back on her heels and stared at me with delight on her face. "Sophie Mae, do you spin?"

I nodded, then shrugged. "I just started, but I can't see stopping now. Never imagined something so mundane could be so addictive."

"I've been doing it for years, but it's hard to find the time."

"Years? I bet you have quite a stash of fiber and yarn." Spinners, like knitters and quitters, were known collectors of the basic "ingredients" of their craft.

She laughed. "Rocky would die if he realized how much."

"Would you show me some of it?" I asked, kneeling beside her and digging my fingers into the dark lush soil piled up around the potato plants.

"I'd love to!"

She stood and lifted the pail, which now held the delicate baby potatoes, and we went back into the house.

Rocky came in from the shop and sat at the kitchen table sipping hot coffee as Gabi and I got things ready to steam and grill. His stoicism had returned in full measure, and I was glad to see any lingering rancor between him and Gabi had vanished. Tagteaming each other and finishing each other's sentences, husband and wife told me a bit about how the tulip farm worked. Then the boys came in, and we were treated to a recounting of the day's adventures while Gabi whipped up a pie crust. She sent the twins out to cut rhubarb and pick strawberries; by the time we had a big salad together they were back with their booty and we assembled the pie.

We ate under an apple tree out back. It wasn't until after dinner and dishes were done that I got a dose of Gabi's fiber stash.

SEVENTEEN

As I STARTED FOR the basket in the corner by the spinning wheel, Gabi called from the kitchen that we were going down to the basement. The sky was still light, but the sun would set soon. Rocky offered to get the boys into bed, and Gabi took him up on the offer.

"I'll be getting myself off to bed then, too," he said. "Long day tomorrow, and it starts early. Sophie Mae, it was nice to meet you. Thanks for bringing the paintings all the way up here. I sure appreciate it."

He still didn't say Ariel's name.

"It was no trouble. I'm glad I could help. And what a treat that dinner was!" I said.

He nodded at that. "Sure was." He gave his wife a peck on the cheek, bid us goodnight again and went to round up the twins.

Gabi led the way downstairs, bottle of merlot in hand. I followed with two glasses. The basement was unfinished, but in one corner she'd created an area devoted to crafts. A little natural light came in from two window wells on that side of the house. She augmented that with a combination of fluorescent and incandescent lights, so the space was bright and cheery even as the sunlight faded outside. A sewing machine dominated a long industriallooking table, with a set of half-finished curtains heaped beside it. Behind, shelves held an assortment of fabrics, and a folded quilting frame leaned against another wall. Apparently, when it came to crafting, Gabi was more than a one-trick pony.

With a flourish, she opened a wide, deep cabinet in the corner, revealing a rich assortment of sensuous fibers and neatly wrapped balls of yarn stacked in baskets. The colors ranged from delicate baby-blanket pastels to deep, saturated jewel tones vibrating with exuberance. They all begged to be touched, and I happily complied.

"Oh, wow," I said. "This is some stash. Did you spin all of these yarns?"

"Not all of them. Sometimes in a yarn store or a knitting shop you just can't resist picking up something new, you know?"

"Yeah. It gets awfully expensive, though, doesn't it?"

"I've gathered this stuff over years and years, and I have friends who raise sheep and alpacas. That means a lot of very cheap fiber if I'm willing to clean it, card it, and dye it myself."

I looked at her in amazement. "You do all that?"

She looked at the floor, modesty prevailing. "When I can. It's hard with two boys and a husband to take care of. Sometimes, though? I stay up most of the night spinning, and Rocky doesn't even know it, he's such a sound sleeper. I'm tired the next day, but somehow calmer, too"

"I know what you mean." I stroked a particularly silky royal blue and teal roving. "What's this made of? It's not alpaca, is it?"

"Oh, no. Hmm. Let's see, I think it's soy." She dug out a tag I hadn't noticed. "Yep, soy fiber. I ordered it online last year, curious about how it would spin up, but I haven't had a chance to get to it yet.

We spent the next hour exploring the offerings of her extensive fiber stash and talking about the different flavors. In addition to soy-and if you could make yarn out of bamboo, why not make it out of soy, for heaven's sake-she had silk "handkerchiefs," a variety of sheep's wool from coarse to fine, fluffy alpaca, angora, cashmere, mohair, even a tuft or two of musk ox.

"Musk ox? You've got to be kidding," I said.

"Oh, no. You can even get camel hair to spin, and some people spin up the hair from their dogs." "

I bet that smells great if you use it to make a sweater and then get caught in the rain."

She laughed. "Then there are the plant fibers. You've seen the bamboo and soy, but of course there's also corn and cotton and hemp and flax."

"Flax?"

"That's what linen is made out of. Some people say in the fairy tale, Rumpelstiltskin spun flax into gold for the miller's daughter, not straw."

"Huh. Now how did I manage to live this long without knowing that?"

We finally exhausted ourselves, as well as the wine, and returned upstairs. It was dark outside, and I was surprised to find the clock read almost eleven-thirty.

"Uh-oh," I said, and dug my cell phone out of my bag. Sure enough, Meghan had left me a message.

It began, "Why do you even have that thing if you don't turn it on, Sophie Mae?" I sighed. Just because I was starting to remember to turn on my cell phone didn't mean I was used to actually carrying it around on my person all the time. She should be happy I had it at all.

The message ended, "Are you coming home tonight or not?" In between there was a lot of stuff that sounded a tad too much like nagging from my housemate. I hated being nagged, but I had to admit that in this case I pretty much deserved whatever I got.

I deleted the message and hung up the phone, sighing. "Better go. I'm in trouble at home."

"Was that your boyfriend?"

"Worried housemate," I said.

"Oh, gosh. You can't go now," Gabi said. "It's way too far, and you've been drinking."

Well, true enough, but I'd only indulged in a glass at dinner and another in the basement. I'd be okay having ingested ten or eleven ounces of wine over five hours. However, the wine bottle was indeed empty, and now that I really looked at Gabi, I could see she was flushed and a little tipsy.

"I'll be all right," I said, though the truth was that I felt bone weary, and the thought of the drive didn't hold much appeal. "Besides, I didn't bring an overnight bag."